


I Don't Think I Want To Leave You

by jackstanifold



Series: Missing A Dying Star (Sadinnit Oneshots) [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Angst, Music, Not really happy ending, Sad Wilbur Soot, idk - Freeform, im sorry boris by wilbur soot, it's pretty open, uuhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29979270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackstanifold/pseuds/jackstanifold
Summary: When Tommy finds a disc left for him by an insane Wilbur, he wasn't really sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn't a song, or an apology.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & TommyInnit, Platonic!!!, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Missing A Dying Star (Sadinnit Oneshots) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205120
Comments: 21
Kudos: 86





	I Don't Think I Want To Leave You

**Author's Note:**

> this week on: manifold is dumb as hell and sad as fuck, so it wrote another sadinnit oneshot.

Wilbur Soot was dead, and gone.

That was nothing new, nothing that people didn’t know, especially not Tommy.

He missed Wilbur, sometimes, but it was duller now than it’d been a year ago, the sharp pain in his throat when he thought about his old friend the only lingering hint that he wasn’t okay.

He’d lost other people too, in other ways.

He’d lost Eret, before Wilbur, when she pressed that button, spoke those words.

He lost Tubbo, and got him back, and almost lost him again.

He lost Techno, his old mentor, to raging fires and anger, screaming across a chasm.

He lost Fundy, and Niki, and Jack, by ignoring them, forgetting them, letting them fade to nothing, until they had to force their ways back, with flint blazing.

Before that, before the SMP, he’d lost the bay.

He’d lost his family.

Wilbur Soot was dead, and Tommy was used to it.

It wasn’t until Quackity went to double-check Pogtopia for supplies that he found the chest, tucked in the rebellion leader’s room. 

Inside was a disc, labelled ‘I’m Sorry Tommy’.

Quackity didn’t listen to it. He just delivered the disc, pity shining in his good eye, his face twisted in concern.

Tommy didn’t listen to the disc. Not yet. Not until the hotel was done and he sat in his suite, listening to the cats purr and hiss and meow, and he decided he would rather listen to anything else.

The familiar sound of guitar chords filled the room.

It’s weird, how he could always tell when it was Wilbur playing. Quackity strummed his guitar with so much confidence, making noise, making it loud. Tubbo plucked the strings, almost like he was scared to hit them with any sort of force. George only ever played when he was drunk, and then, it was sloppy, meant to appease Sapnap instead of meaning to make music.

Wilbur’s fingertips scratched against the strings as he switched chords, plucking the strings gently, individually, more of an absentminded reaction to feeling the guitar in his hands. He didn’t sound like he meant to make music, but he did.

Tommy had missed that sound, the sound that filled late nights in L’Manburg, the echoing of the chords bouncing off the walls.

The music stopped, suddenly, then continued, this time accompanied by a voice, crooning gently.

“I figured out what can move me…”

Tommy blinked. It was odd to hear Wilbur’s voice so soft, like he was whispering, trying to keep quiet.

“It’s trains, hugs, planes and sushi…”

He leaned against the speaker, closing his eyes.

“And I’m sorry, but Tommy, I’m leaving.”

He squeezed his eyes shut curling in on himself.

When had he written this? He had never been so soft at the end, this had to have been in the first week or so, right?

Or had he been planning his own death for so much longer than Tommy had thought?

It was suddenly cold, and Tommy shivered. He wondered if it was worth getting up and leaving the jukebox to grab a blanket from his bed.

It was odd, hearing Wilbur so soft. It was almost magical. Back when they first met, when Tommy was a kid, 10 or so, and Wilbur was a teenager, he’d played guitar for him, but then, it’d been songs about women, and love, and little Tommy had sung along.

As time went on, the songs got sadder, until Wilbur plucked at guitar strings and crooned about death.

His last song was one called Jubilee Line, and Tommy had left before he had finished, unable to hear him sing so lightly of such horrible things.

He hadn’t been paying attention.

The song had slowed down, until it was almost done.

“I don’t think I want to leave you…”

Tommy laughed at that, although it wasn’t funny.

He had wanted to leave, obviously. He wanted to leave so bad he couldn’t wait to say goodbye, couldn’t wait to die. 

The guitar stopped, and there was silence, Tommy sighed, pulling himself to his feet to turn of the jukebox, but as he reached for the button, a quiet chuckle came from the speaker, and he hesitated.

“Sorry, Tommy. I love you.”

He froze.

“I don’t want to leave you, really I don’t. You’re the only reason I haven’t offed myself yet, but if this goes right… It’s the 14th, Tommy. Two days left. If you’re hearing this, the war went well. We won, and then I died. I’m sorry, Tommy, I really am.”

Tommy stood there, hand hovering over the button as Wilbur sighed, then muttered something under his breath, and then recording clicked, and it was over.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm going to be real w/ you, i don't even like wilbur's music that much, but i'm sorry boris is such a fucking bop.
> 
> follow me on tumblr @jackstanifold because i think i deserve it.


End file.
